


Mirror, Mirror

by motherbearof3



Series: Bites From the Apple [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Established Relationship, F/M, Getting Older, turning 40
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:24:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherbearof3/pseuds/motherbearof3
Summary: Hermione was okay about turning forty until she looked in the mirror.





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t resist writing a little something in honor of the brightest witch of her age turning the big 4-0.

Draco was lounging against the pillows reading the paper and wondering if he could coax his beautiful wife back to bed for a little morning lovemaking since all the kids were back at school when he heard the distinct sound of breaking glass from the other side of the closed bathroom door. He leapt from the bed in alarm and was across the room in a flash and threw open the door, brandishing his wand.

“Hermione!?”

He dropped his arm when he saw she was unharmed and sitting on the edge of the large marble tub, glaring at the broken mirror over the sink that reflected multiple distorted copies of them both.

“What happened? Are you cut?”

“What happened is that damned mirror! Why does everything in this fucking house have to be magic?”

She lifted her wand toward the looking glass and shot another spell, shattering it even more.

“Hold on then!”

Draco stepped to her side, knowing better than to get in front of his wife’s wand when she was angry and reached across her body to lower her arm. Then he moved to crouch down in front of her. He held her wand hand loosely by the wrist and smoothed her curls back from her face with his other, feeling them alive with magic as he did so. She was in a state about something.

“Sweetheart, what did the mirror say that has you so upset?”

“I simply wished Mrs. Malfoy a happy birthday,” came a voice from behind him. It was crackled and filled with static, as if speaking over a bad phone line.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and a spell shot past Draco. Her aim was off since he was holding her hand, and it hit the vanity, blasting a hole in one of the wooden doors.

“That’s enough now,” he said calmly, and gently removed her wand from her hand, laying it on the edge of the tub. 

Then he drew her to her feet and led her from the bathroom, away from the pieces of glass that were now starting to fall from the frame and shattering further as they landed on the tile floor. Draco wasn’t sure why the mirror wishing Hermione happy birthday had made her angry enough to break it. He was also glad he didn’t believe the Muggle superstition about it being bad luck to break one. With the damage she’d done, it certainly would be more than seven years.

In their bedroom, Draco sat down in one of the two overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace, where the pair spent many nights reading and drew her onto his lap, like he did their daughter when she was upset. He dropped a kiss onto the cluster of freckles on the tip of her nose and said lightly,

“If you want to remodel, all you have to do is say so. No need to start tearing the place apart like one of the Muggle home improvement shows.”

His attempt at humour succeeded in calming her ire and Hermione relaxed against his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. But that stupid mirror told me I’m old.”

“What do you mean? You’re not old, love.”

“I’m forty. That’s middle aged. And the mirror told me it could recommend some potions to keep away wrinkles.”

Draco put a finger under her chin and tipped her head up to gaze into her eyes before lovingly kissing her.

“Hermione, forty might be middle aged for a Muggle, but not for a witch. You have another thirty or forty years before you’re middle aged.”

“Are you sure, Draco? Because I might have magic, but I’m Muggle- _ born _ , remember? I don’t want to wake up some day and look twenty years older than you.”

“I’m positive,” he lied convincingly, all the while mentally reminding himself to check the library for any information about how Muggle-born witches and wizards aged, because he wasn’t completely sure, now that he thought about it.

“All right. I’ll go repair the mirror and the vanity.”

She moved to get off his lap, but he held her in place

“In a bit,” he said, sliding the strap of her negligee from her shoulder and placing open mouthed kisses across her collarbone. She shivered when she felt his teeth scrape the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. “Right now there’s something we should do that I’ve heard takes years off one’s life.”


End file.
